


Curiosities

by OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confused Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nygma - Freeform, Gotham City Police Department, Harvey is a Dick (for now), M/M, Nygmobblepot, One-Sided Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform, infatuated Edward Nygma, reversed!nygmobblepot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-15 21:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes/pseuds/OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes
Summary: Reversed! Nygmobs AU, starting in 01x15Edward Nygma has been incredibly intrigued by a criminal file, one "Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot: AKA Penguin", he found when working on a case. He finds himself unable to put it down, and one day, meets the notorious Penguin by chance in the GCPD precinct.He hasn't been able to stop thinking about him since, with a smile on his face.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Edward smiled shyly to himself, blushing subconsciously at the file spread before him on his desk. The only light coming from a small lamp at the top corner of the table, outside Gotham’s token rain hammering on the pane of glass separating the small studio apartment from the harsh winds and freezing temperatures beyond the brick walls of his home.

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to have the file.

But then again, the case he was working on was _technically_ related to this file.

So, no harm done.

He had been scouring the pages of the file for the past half hour, and yet he had barely scratched the surface of the Penguin’s extensive history. He marveled at the scheming brilliance beyond his manipulation of Gotham’s most notorious gang leaders, working his way through the chains of command, his penchant for information his most venomous weapon. And that _temper_ , god.

Yet it was not only the man’s intelligence that had snared the young forensics worker. The Penguin had quite the temper, but the precisions of his kills were still admirable. Passion was never able to dilute practiced skill, when the man wanted someone dead quickly, there were few wounds, all in critical areas. When he wanted them to suffer, many were made in impractical places before the killing stroke was to be dealt. And he was a very clean killer, few ties lead the body count to him, and those that were visible to the truly inept minds of the Gotham City Police Department were all matted together and crossed too many lines of red tape for anything to be done about it.

Brilliance.

 

Edward huddled the mug of coffee closer to himself, the heat stinging his skin, seeking its way pleasantly to the bones of his hands. Holding the mug closer to his face, fogging his glasses, the lanky man swung his spidery legs into the chair with him, sitting so that his knees pressed to his chest, chin supported to continue his reading, hair curled from the humidity outside. Humming, he swiped his glasses with the sleeve of his green sweater, before being rudely interrupted from his research by the phone ringing. Cursing, and wiping spilled coffee from his knees, he closed the file neatly before crossing the room to answer it.

 

“Nygma speaking.” he said, trying to sound glad to answer the phone, smiling widely to sell the act to the unnamed caller.

“ _Nygma, it’s Bullock. We need you in. Possible homicide down on the docks. Looks like Maroni, but you’re the expert here,”_ came a gruff voice from the other side of the line, distorted by the slight static from the speaker.

“Okie dokie, Detective. Be right down.”

_“Enough of the weird, freak. Get your skinny ass to the precinct. I’ll drive you down.”_

Taking his cue to leave, Edward hung up with a huff of annoyance.

Looks like his evening plans were cancelled.

 

Four hours later, Jim Gordon decided to show up, as much the late hero Golden Boy type as ever, shoes loud and unprotected on the ground of the crime scene. Rolling his eyes internally, but glad to see him nonetheless, Edward looked up and flashed a smile from where he was crouched on the ground next to a puddle of blood, mingling with the sludge from the mess that accompanied the docks at all times like a repulsive insignia. Handing over his notes to the detective, he filled him in on the highlights and oddities that came with a corpse missing not only a head but most of the skin on his inner palms that erased his fingerprints.

“See Detective, the brilliance with this is that without a head or fingerprints, it will be incredibly difficult to not only _identify_ John Doe, but mapping back the scarce evidence to a killer would be time consuming to say the least. But! I found something very peculiar.” Edward’s face split with a knowing grin on the last point, clutching his clipboard to his chest and looking down into Gordon’s disinterested eyes.

“What ta--”

“Nygma please. Shove the riddles right back up where they came from or _so help me-_ ”

“Bullock.” Gordon looked at his partner warningly before looking back to Edward, who was nervously biting his bottom lip at being yelled at yet again when all he was trying to do was be useful.

“Sorry, Ed, but it would just be helpful if you gave us the information instead of having us work more than necessary for it.”

Eyes to the floor, Nygma handed over his clipboard without a word, and walked back towards the precinct, ducking under the police tape as he went.

 

A block away from the scene, Edward slowed his pace and rubbed his eyes with his gloved hands. He tried to make friends on the force, he really did, but he had always been sort of an oddball, and for two years he had been reminded of it almost regularly by Bullock. He had initially thought Harvey would be nicer to him, seeing as the older man had taken in a few of the other newcomers under his wing during their first months, but by the time Bullock had looked Edward in his hopeful eyes, he grimaced and treated him differently.

Shaking his head to dispel a waltz down memory lane when alone on the sidewalks of Gotham’s riverside district, it was then he realised that Bullock had drove him here, and he would need to either take the bus down to the precinct at eight in the morning, or he would need to walk.

 

Deciding to walk, he quickly came to regret that decision when it started raining again as he came within three blocks of the precinct.

 

? x ? x ?

 

Two days later, as luck would have it, Nygma had just been putting away the contraband file he _borrowed_ when a distinctive walk could be heard entering the precinct. He had just been going up the few steps to the Medical Examiner’s when he saw the Penguin looking displeased, tapping a black cardstock note in his hands next to Gordon’s desk. Just as the birdlike man turned his head and met eyes with Edward, the taller man quickly looked away, feigning innocence. Just as Penguin turned his back to Edward and began to walk back out, Nygma quickly descended the steps and speed walked over to the subject of his research.

Crossing the other hall from the man, Edward kept glancing over at him and finally came to stop next to him right in front of the front desk.

 

“Can I help you?” The immaculately dressed man said with a sneer, spinning on his heel to face Edward.

“I don’t think so,” Edward turned to face him, “Can you?”

The small man smirked while Edward laughed quietly to himself out of disbelief that _he was actually talking to_ the _Oswald Cobblepot_.

“What I want, the poor have, the rich need, and it you eat it, you’ll die.” he said quickly. The Penguin backed up with a look of confusion.

“Is this w- are you asking me a riddle?”

“Do you like riddles?” Edward asked, not put off by the anticipated reaction.

“No,” came the quick response.

“So do you give up?” he was met with a brief laugh.

“Friend, look at-”

“Nothing! The answer is nothing. The poor have it, the rich need it and if you-” he broke off as a hand was held up to silence him.

“Who are you?”

“Edward. Nygma.” he said, enunciating his last name. The smaller man blinked at him, at a loss for words. “I know who _you_ are.” he pressed on.

“Then you know that you’re standing too close.” Penguin responded, glancing at Edward’s feet for emphasis.

 

Completely put out, Edward stepped backwards, pursing his lips before making one more last-ditch effort to converse with the man.

“Did you know that --”

 

 _“Nygma! Skinny ass, right here, now.”_ sounded Harvey from back at his desk, interrupting Ed mid-thought. His eyes went wide and his face headed to a bright pink hue at a steady pace not only from the name calling, but at the smaller man’s raised eyebrows. Shakily, edward nodded his head curtly at Cobblepot before rushing back to see why he was needed, shoulders slightly hunched in anxiety, and ears red.

 

Wondering briefly at why exactly Bullock was ordering the strange man around, Oswald Cobblepot watched after the hastily retreating man, curious to why he intrigued him so. Then the moment passed, and he walked as gracefully as a man with one properly functioning leg could do out of the precinct.

 

\--

 

Edward could not believe his luck. Being called away by Harvey for absolutely no good reason aside, _he got to talk to the Penguin_ , and even more significant, _the Penguin knows his name_. Giddy, Edward slides open his front door and is almost immediately met with the chiming of his cuckoo clock announcing that he got home around ten in the evening, earlier than normal, but he just might be able to squeeze in some sleep.

As he lay in bed, the bedside alarm reading out a despicable 3:17 in the morning, he couldn’t get those calculating eyes out of his mind, nor the harsh lines of a pointed nose and prominent cheekbones, the mysterious and tantalising image of a dark suit and a solid resolve out of his mind.

Edward Nygma, was a goner.


	2. calling card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens

It was a few months before Edward saw the Penguin again. Whenever the man made his face seen at the precinct it was always near Gordon, or when he felt the need to come personally to assist the Detective with cases that needed inside intelligence for. Never to follow up with his conversation with Edward. 

 

He wouldn’t say that he was  _ hurt _ , more, put off. However, he was quite used to the situation of thinking more of someone than they ever bothered to think of him. Penguin was no exception, but it irked him that Bullock of all people got to talk to the man more than Edward did. Bullock wasn’t even moderately nice to Edward. 

 

The more times Edward had gotten closer to talking to him, the more tongue-tied he had gotten by the time he was ready to walk over. He had no idea why it affected him like this, and he was self-aware enough to know that he probably had some emotional connection to Penguin after reading so much about him, to even meeting the man. 

 

As he heard the door to the hallway bang open, he hastily refocused on what he was supposed to be doing. He changed the angle at which his gloved hand was penetrating the chest cavity in front of him, the latex of the glove muffling the texture of the flesh so that his fingers traced by cool, smooth, and somewhat squishy organ tissue. Palm up, he gasped lightly when he found the irregularity, a very out of place piece of cardstock slipped between the lungs and heart. 

 

“Looks like someone lost their invitation,” he muttered to himself as he closed his eyes to better extract the paper, bracing his other hand on top of the chest, standing to the side of the cadaver so that he had a better vantage for his right hand. Just as he began to tug at a corner of the offending foreign object, the door to his room busted open, and smacked against the wall, causing Edward to flinch as he tried not to move the paper too quickly.

Looking up and opening his eyes, he was greeted with Bullock striding in, Penguin in tow. The burly detective made a mock-bow in Nygma’s direction which was met with an eye roll from the mobster as Bullock then made his exit.

 

“Mr. Penguin! I um, how can I be of, ahem, help you?” Edward winced at his all-too-graceful deliverance of words. The man in front of him didn’t pay heed as he leaned over to examine the corpse between them. 

“Nygma, have you found it?” The man said after a pause, not looking away from the neck of the man, a minimalistic tattoo of a rose just below the point of his jaw, the whole of it the size of a dime, but very elegant.

“Um, I’m sorry, is there something in particular because there are a series of oddities about this particular case…” He trailed off, unused to not being interrupted or being told to cut to the chase. Nygma found himself staring at the man in front of him, slightly in shock at the rawness of emotion on his face. This wasn’t anger, or the beginnings of one of his infamous tantrums, but something entirely different in nature. Just as he was about to come up with a name for the emotion, Cobblepot began to speak, the distinctive voice pulling him quickly to the present.

“I believe there should be a coin somewhere in his midsection, just here,” he extended a finger clad in leather gloves to tap the space just above the left hip bone. 

 

“Well, actually, I haven’t found a coin yet, much less explored that area yet, but interestingly enough…” he paused as he carefully removed the card in one steady motion, “there’s this.”

Edward placed the blood-sodden item onto a towel ready on his left, on the top of his surgical instruments. The Penguin knit his eyebrows ever so lightly as he peered around the forensic worker to inspect it, before recoiling sharply.

“Mr. Penguin?” Nygma ventured, voice cautious, looking over his shoulder at the already pale man turning a slight shade of green.

 

“Let me see that,” he said, voice shaking slightly before he cleared his throat to steady it. “I think I have a good idea who this is.” Edward nodded, patting the card with the towel to reveal a small pink triangle printed neatly in the centre of the originally white card. Luckily for them, and not the man who had been serving as a hotdog bun to the card, the paper had the same seal as plasticised playing cards to prevent staining, so it was cleaned up quickly with only slight residue of drying blood. 

Penguin nudged Edward’s side, with his elbow, motioning back to the corpse.

“Can you check for the coin?” 

Nygma stared at him, confused. Not at the request, but at the tone. It sounded almost patient. He nodded before moving closer to the man’s hip, sliding the sheet down slightly to better expose the site he would be dissecting. 

 

Just as the gangster had pointed out, there was a small scar in the shape of an “X” on the inside of the man’s left hip. Tracing along the guidelines of the scar pattern with his scalpel, Edward cringed as he felt a scraping of metal on metal, the sound high pitched and abrasive to his ears. Replacing the soiled instrument to its’ proper place, he traded it for the forceps, which he used to extract the coin, a heavy, gold thing, reasoning that even though he had used his hands previously to remove the card, he would try to look a bit more professional as he was  _ very _ aware of the Penguin’s proximity to him. 

As soon as it was outside of the hip, he placed it in a tray full of a sterilising agent to clean it before handing it over to Cobblepot for inspection. The weight of the metal disk causing the gloved hand to dip slightly from its initial position, careful fingers closed around it before bringing it up to his mouth in a sort-of kiss. Edward was intrigued at the motion, but felt acutely that he was interrupting something private. Moving back to his station, the taller man tried to be quiet but had moved more quickly than anticipated, causing his own hip to clip the corner of the metal operating table, hissing in pain. 

 

Cobblepot’s eyes snapped open, his private daze broken as he was dragged forcibly back to reality, to the precinct, to this strange man who was mumbling a series of apologies at him. He frowned at the lanky man, thoroughly perplexed as to why he was always trying to say sorry for merely existing in the presence of other people. 

“What are you doing, Nygma?” he tried, genuinely concerned with the other man’s behaviours. 

“Me? I’m just leaving, I thought it would be better to leave you to, uh, deal with, things. I need to report back to Bullock and inform him of the further complexities before he decides to come in here himself and have Doctor Thompkins do it instead, I only just got my M.E. privileges back and I don’t want him to tell Essen-”

“Edward.”

The man stopped his anxious babbling and looked at him like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. 

“Breathe.” the Penguin said, putting emphasis on the word to try to get through to the man that he was not doing anything wrong.

“S-sorry, I just…”

“I get it,” the mobster ventured. “Let me guess, that oaf makes you do all his busywork and when you don’t he gets mad? Or is it more of the cliche of the power structure of him being more comfortable around others than you are, thus him exploiting your dedication to your work and social isolation to get you to rely on him for guidance?” 

At the end of his deductive monologue, the Penguin looked at him expectantly.

“Absolutely correct,” Edward mumbled, looking away from the piercing gaze and onto the floor near his feet, fidgeting with his arms before finally deciding to wrap them around himself in a defensive position.

The Penguin huffed a laugh. Not at the man, but at the coincidence of the situation. When he was a child himself, Oswald would find himself in the same situations, thus his ambition to climb up to the top where nobody could look down their nose at him. 

 

“You should do something about that. Make him see you more as an equal, and less of an errand-boy with a penchant for riddles.”

Edward looked back up from the floor to the man’s face, disbelief etched all over his own. 

“You really think so?” he said, sounding half his size. Cobblepot nodded at him encouragingly.

“I-I’ve never tried to do… anything like that,” he sniffed, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. Unbeknownst to him, leaving a smudge of blood on his face.

The Penguin pursed his lips at the sight. 

“Um? Is there, uh, something wrong?” he stammered, looking scared again. Rolling his eyes slightly, the mobster took a half step forwards and made an effort to wipe the blood off his nose with his own handkerchief, the action not making much of a difference due to the height gap between the two, and the lack of familiarity for such a gesture. Noting this, the man cleared his throat and backed away, handing the cloth to Edward after the man removed his soiled gloves, gesturing at his own face to silently communicate to the tall man that there was something on his without drawing much embarrassment. 

This proved fruitless, as Nygma took that opportunity to do the exact opposite of what Cobblepot was attempting to avoid, his face flushing entirely pink, it reaching the tips of his ears and down to the end of his nose. Watching the flustered man, an idea hit the mobster, be it out of sympathy or his curious intrigue in the man.

 

“I have an idea on how you can accomplish that.” he said firmly. Edward looked into his eyes, every inch a lost puppy.

“Making Bullock treat me more fairly?” Oswald nodded.

“Knowing the little that I do about the man,” he smirked at his own sarcasm, “I can tell you that he takes social accomplishments as a form of merit. See, take Jim. Not only has he been in the army, big shot father, whatever - people  _ like _ him.” noting the crestfallen look on Edward’s face, he amended this quickly.    
“Not that you aren’t likeable! Just that, well, have you had any friends in the precinct? Okay, judging by the grimace, no. You need to act like you have friends, at the least. Better would be an emotional entanglement, which would  _ really _ rub it in, as the man is a serial monogamist, and can barely hold down a woman for more than one night.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Edward deadpanned, personality creeping back with every sentence the Penguin spoke to him with such conspiratorial intent.

“Well, you could pretend to have a partner for one, I’m sure there’s plenty of people lined up that would be willing.” 

The sheer speed at which Nygma’s left eyebrow shot up would have been entertaining to clock, but that Cobblepot decided to archive for another time.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly anyone’s type.” 

“I’m sure that’s not the case- put that other eyebrow down, damnit!” Oswald almost laughed at the bemused look on Edward’s face at the comment, but persisted.

 

“Date me.”

“What?!”

“Fake date me.” Edward said, matter-of-factly, his calm voice juxtaposing his rapidly reddening face.

Oswald blinked in shock at the sudden bold tone. 

_ Well, it would probably piss Bullock off if I were to be involved with someone on the force, and it would be helping Nygma socially _ , he pondered _ , it’s kind of a win-win scenario _ . Weighing his options in his head, he extended his vacant hand to Edward, who shook it firmly, with a bit more enthusiasm than Cobblepot had anticipated.

Smiling at each other, smirk on one side, sheepish grin on the other, the two men released hands and Cobblepot slipped the coin back inside his pocket while Edward cleaned up his station, deciding silently that it would sell the act more if they left together.

 

Depositing the bag with the card in it on Bullock’s desk, the two men took their leave through the front of the precinct, walking close together, neither of them saying a word. 

As they approached where Edward had parked his car, they slowed, and stood next to each other as Edward fished out his keys from one of his many pockets. 

“Quick, it’s Gordon!” Cobblepot whispered intently to his taller companion as the blonde head of Gotham’s favourite detective could be seen getting out of his car. 

Edward looked over puzzled. 

“What about it?” Oswald huffed a sigh and grabbed Edward’s face as Gordon looked their way, closing the space between their mouths.

 

Edward’s heart was hammering so fast in his chest, he was sure Oswald could hear it from where the front of their jackets met, he almost forgot to respond. Their mouths moving together deeply, as if they had been doing this for quite some time. The heels of Oswald’s hands pressing into his cheekbones, pulling him down closer to his height. Instinctively, Edward wrapped his arms around Oswald’s waist, pulling him closer.

Cracking an eye open the smallest he could manage, Oswald saw Jim Gordon looking rather lost for words in their direction, before slowly turning his head and walking quickly into the precinct, likely to tell Bullock what he had just seen.

Releasing his grip on Edward’s face just enough to lean back and press their foreheads together.

“That was a close one, expect interesting words from Bullock tomorrow.” and just like that, he up and left to go find his own mode of transportation, Edward frozen, rooted to the spot.

 

_ Oswald fucking Cobblepot just kissed me _ .


	3. token of memories

To say that Edward was nervous to go into work the next morning was understating it, to say the least. 

He was sure that by the time he had driven home, did his nightly routine, and woke up the next morning an hour and fourteen minutes before he needed to be at work, that the news of his ‘relationship’ would have spread like a virus. 

So, it was a surprise when he went into work, dressed in his usual nondescript brown suit and grey coat, that nobody paid him any special heed. It wasn’t until he was crouched over a body on the sidewalks of an alley did Bullock approach him.

 

“Hey Nygma, want a coffee?” 

Not looking at him, but eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed, Edward stiffened at the very unexpected gesture. 

At a loss for words, he turned around from his hunched position on the floor to gratefully accept the proffered cardboard cup of coffee, nodding his head in thanks. Expecting an interrogation in tow, he was again put off as the detective smiled at him and walked back over to where Gordon was interviewing some nearby homeless people about the murder, hands in his pockets, signature jacket and hat struggling with the wind. 

 

Shaking his head for clarity, he took a few sips of the pleasantly warm coffee before setting it to the side so he could continue recording the areas of incisions and their corresponding exit wounds, and the several places where blood hit the walls. 

A sloppy kill. He felt almost bad for the guy to be murdered by such an ameture. 

He would have been quite humiliated, had he suffered Jack Richardson’s fate. 

But he didn’t, so the secondhand embarrassment would have to suffice.

 

Taking his short break later in a nearby cafe, he grabbed a muffin before sitting down on a bench near the inspection area to rewrite his shorthand notes into more legible ones that would be  _ much _ more useful to two certain detectives who seemed to appreciate his expertise. 

He was so engrossed in his work that he nearly choked on the muffin when somebody had sat right next to him, legs crossed at the knee, and hands resting there, back straight. While he waited for his pulse to quiet down, and the coughing fit to stop, his face went scarlett from the additional stress of that person being Peng-- Oswald.

 

“Well, you dying would be a bit of a hindrance to our schemes, wouldn’t it, Edward?” came the snarky reply to a shaky hand wave. 

“Oswald! You surprised me,” Edward said, clearing his throat.

“I would have maybe said, ‘attempted homicide’, but if ‘surprise’ is more palatable, then we can go with that.” this was accompanied by a smirk from behind tinted circular glasses that reflected the world around Oswald. Edward laughed nervously, mindlessly rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly shy.

 

He hadn’t talked to the man since they kissed the day prior, and he hadn’t necessarily gotten used to this ‘relationship’ thing, hell, he hadn’t been in one since right before he moved to Gotham three years prior. That one had not ended well for Edward, he was still emotionally scarred by it, his trust issues worsening after walking in on his partner in bed with Edward’s best friend. 

_ How were healthy relationships even supposed to work? _ He wondered, aware of the light brush of Oswald’s shoulder against his own. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the weeks he had spent reading about Oswald, and after their first encounter, the faux relationship rubbed at him differently than he would have liked. The abrupt closeness to the man he had admired from afar should have delighted him, which it did, to an extent, but he found himself feeling slightly odd that it wasn’t genuine. Which was to be expected, as he again, was very used to not only being used, but not being worthwhile company, be it romantically or otherwise. 

 

“Where’d you go?”

“Hmm?” 

“Your mind wandered off somewhere, I was just checking that you hadn’t checked out on me.” Oswald said, voice somewhat quiet, him being aware of the proximity to the detectives. 

“Just thinking about how we can sell this.” Oswald nodded in agreement.

“Good point. We should probably practice doing things together in the case of potential questions. Other things, as well. Yesterday was a good pitch, but to get them in hook, line, and sinker, it would be wise of us to… get used to the situation. Eachother.” 

 

Edward thought about that for a beat before responding. 

“So, like… couple stuff… together?” Oswald laughed quietly.

“Well, yes. What, were you expecting me to go off with someone else in order to get to know you better?” Edward’s face went red at being called out, but he found he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

“Kidding,” he added, bumping his shoulder to Edward’s.

“Although, yes. In this day and age, a simple declaration usually doesn’t sell quite what we’re advertising. We need to be seen together in public, seen  _ close _ , check,” Edward giggled, “and chiefly, be seen comfortable with being together.”

“Fake it ‘till you make it.” Edward mumbled, an old saying his drama teacher back in college had branded into his memory. Oswald scoffed, but Edward decided to not mention it.

 

“Well, my break’s over in a minute, and then I have two more hours until the end of my shift. Would you like to go to lunch or something?” 

Oswald’s expression behind his glasses was unreadable, but the slight upwards twist at the corner of his mouth was reassurance that Edward had not overstepped.

“I’d like that.”

Oswald walked with Edward back to the scene and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before heading back to wherever he came from.

 

Mentally capturing the moment, Edward stalled for a moment, reliving the two seconds. Oswald having his hand on Edward’s shoulder, body facing the opposite way, then needing to go on his toes before lightly pecking his cheek, Edwards face a light pink hue as he returned to work, hint of a smile on his face.

 

?x?x?

 

After grabbing lunch at a deli somewhere downtown near the theatre district at Oswald’s insistence, they went to a park nearby where several pigeons had accumulated around an abandoned taco plate. Grabbing a seat on a bench facing the jogging path, with a view of the birds, they made easy banter as they familiarised themselves. 

It was certainly a surreal experience for Edward, as he was currently fighting over a bag of chips with a known criminal and mobster. But he didn’t care, there was much more to Oswald than those labels, not only was he incredibly accomplished in his field and had a knack for always getting back on his feet, but he was also very fond of the piano, Arvo Pärt, fine clothing (an obvious but endearing fact to Edward), and a club owner down where Fish Mooney’s club used to be.

Oswald, in turn, learned that Edward had a love for puzzles, thus the riddles, mystery novels, and owned a piano. And had a liking for Chinese takeout, but did not enjoy onions in his food for anything besides flavouring.

 

“But you’re serious, green?”

“It is a great colour, I’ll have you know,” Edward shot back, hand wrestling around the chip back, trying to grab the last few before Oswald did, “And it looks amazing anywhere.”

“Probably not on a suit, though.” The shorter man added with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t put money on that, if I were you.” Edward added, removing his empty hand from the bag, pouting slightly that he lost the battle for the chips. Oswald smiled triumphantly, raising a judgemental eyebrow at the suit comment.

They disposed of their wrappers in a nearby trash can, and Edward offered to drive Oswald back to wherever he needed to be.

“I have some time to kill, so whatever you’d like to do, I’m alright if you wouldn’t mind me tagging along, otherwise I can make myself scarce.”

_ No no don’t go I like you _ , Edward thought worriedly.

“Absolutely not, that is I don’t mind, it would probably be for the best, I mean-”

“Where’s your car, dork?”

Edward flashed him a shy smile before guiding them both over to where his car was parked a few blocks away.

 

“Contemporary, I like it.” Oswald said, turning around once he entered the sliding door that led to Edward’s apartment.

“Really? I had you pegged as more of a neo-gothic appreciator.” 

“Oh I definitely am, but this is charming. I like the window. And the door.” 

At these words, Edward felt a surge of pride at the mighty Penguin not only being in his house, and in a faux relationship with him, but appreciating aspects of his house. It was… domestic, almost. 

Clearing his throat, Edward glanced over at Oswald. “Would you like coffee? Or tea? I have either, whatever your preference.”

Oswald blinked at him, trying to process being welcomed into someone’s house, let alone made to be at home there.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

“Cream?”

“Just black, if you please.” Edward smiled at him before busying himself with putting the kettle on for his guest, and turning on the coffee maker for himself, checking the water levels.

 

“May I ask you a question, Oswald?” Edward inquired hesitantly, back still to the man, busying himself with finding suitable mugs.

“Well, another one? Yes, if I can answer it.” he could practically hear the smirk behind the light sass in his response.

“That man yesterday, how did you know him?” 

 

It was a minute before Oswald answered, collecting his thoughts.

“When I had just starting working for Fish, I had to help the club’s ongoings. Some of these duties involved overseeing some of the … workers that would cater to the patrons. The man on the slab was an old, well, he was an acquaintance of mine,” he chose the word acquaintance carefully, saying it slowly, to see if it sounded right. “He worked in pleasuring some of the wealthier guests. His name was Samuel, although he was known as Ace among his customers. I met him when I was eighteen, I think he may have been around the same age as me. I had tried to get out of a bad place, and he tried to help me. But before it could work, his boss found out, and Ace took the blame for trying to get out of the mob. It’s hard to get out once you’re in, and for him to remember what he did, it was customary for his boss to leave a memento of the worker’s wrongdoings. His, was a small coin, right by his hip. It had been there for at least eight years now.”

 

“I’m sorry about your loss.” Edward said after letting the words sink in, he had still not turned around to see Oswald, but could feel the atmosphere in the room shift with his memories resurfacing unpleasantly. At some point during Oswald’s anecdote, the kettle had whistled, and both their coffee and tea were ready. 

Bringing the mugs over to where Oswald was perched on the arm of his couch, Edward sat a respectful two feet away and didn’t try to break the silence. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, both men feeling no need to speak, simply enjoying the other’s company.

 

An hour later, Oswald bid his adieu, and Edward was once again with his thoughts. 

Keeping his feelings out of their arrangement was going to be difficult, the more he learned about the man, the harder it got.


	4. slowdive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> due to complicating circumstances, the boys need to up their scheme.   
> awkwardness and intimacy ensue.  
> rating has gone up :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kiddos!  
> sorry it's been so long (for those who keep track of this) and for future readers (hopefully I have those), I hope this loaded adequately.  
> i do have an array of excuses, chiefly being:   
> \- exams  
> \- massive projects overlapping  
> \- i got cheated on & depressed  
> \- poor mental health!  
> and last, but not least:  
> i was super lazy in my two hours a week of downtime  
> sorry  
> anywho!  
> here's a bit of an ~intimate~ chapter for you guys ;)  
> enjoy!
> 
> ALSO: this one's dedicated to my avid supporter @keepingtimetimetime i love you (no hetero/homo)

If there was one thing that Edward Nygma despised more than idiots, it was  _ nosey _ idiots. Sure, for the scheme to work, there would have to be the occasional conversation, but now that people were actually noticing him, it was in a way he didn’t much find room for comfort in. There were whispers following him down the hallways, the occasional snicker here and there. His brain hurt just to be once again surrounded by high schoolers who were to gossip as an addict to heroin. Much to his despair, he was about to turn a corner when he overheard Dr. Thompkins and Miss Kringle attempting to determine incredibly damning details of his and Oswald’s ‘private affairs’. Humiliated, he quickly backtracked, hugging the clipboard in his arms closer to him, seeking to use it as a shield for his heart against prying eyes. 

 

Eyes especially open to the small details of his co-workers that he usually tried to ignore the best he could, Edward began to subtly keep track of the symptoms of his love-struck peers. Running through the list mentally on his way home, he paled noticing the sheer enormity of what sorts of things couples had to do in order to be taken as serious. Sure, this wasn’t Edward’s first relationship, it wasn’t even a formal one at that, yet he found himself seeking validation for it, as it had been almost a month and a half since they began their venture. 

Parking his car, he gently slumped over so that his forehead was resting on the wheel between his hands, knuckles white. Breathing in slowly, he exhaled even slower, screaming quietly through his throat. Taking four minutes to compose himself, eyes clenched tightly against his surroundings, he unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbing his bag as he swung open the door, still not looking. In hindsight, he probably should have opened his eyes like any other occasion, as a gentle  _ oomph _ of surprise could be heard from the other side of the door.

Eyes snapping open, and mortified once again, Edward quickly exited and closed the door before turning on the abrupt visitor.

“Oswald! What are you doing here, wait, how are you here? How did you know I was going to be here?” the words tumbled from his mouth with the grace of a three-year old attempting to recreate a gymnastics routine he saw an Olympian perform on television.

“I have my connections.” he said cryptically, eyebrows slightly furrowed at the blubbering mess in front of him.

“Well why would anyone… wait,” Oswald smirked at the late realisation, “You memorised my schedule for Thursday’s didn’t you?”

“Indeed.” 

“You look stressed, Edward.” Oswald helpfully noted.

“ _ Indeed _ .” Edward parroted with a sigh, playing off of the nonchalant response he had been given earlier.

 

Several flights of stairs later, and a complaining Penguin lamenting about the exercise demanded of him, the men were once again inside Edward’s apartment.

“So…” Oswald led, looking at the taller man expectantly.

“So,” Edward trailed off, mind somewhere between the mobster and somewhere very far away. 

“Edward. Stress. Tell me?” He spoke with a tinge of humour, seating himself on the counter, legs crossed at the knee.

“Well, you see,” Edward began pacing, “While I was at the precinct, there seemed to be more gossip than usual about… well,  _ us _ , and I wasn’t sure why at first until I rounded a corner and almost stumbled into a conversation about some excruciatingly crude and  _ intimate _ speculations about our, erm, private life, and it got me wondering about how this is going to sell. Well you see Mr. Penguin, I’m not really convinced entirely that this is going to work, Gordon seems to have distanced himself from me, while the initial marvel of the situation is seeming to wear off from Bullock, I think he knows too and-”

Oswald was listening patiently the whole time, eyes on the walking enigma from start to finish, and his face was unreadable. 

“Well, what sorts of things? Also, Edward, it’s Oswald. I’ve told you this.” 

Edward’s ears went red, and he stopped his pacing, settling for leaning up against the table, foot lightly scuffing at the floor in front of his other. The more he thought about it, the more complicated his facial expression seemed to become, his lips pursed, lightly biting the inside of his cheek.

 

“Namely, well, I mean, they’re curious as to how… uhm, we…” the now fire engine red ears were beginning to spread their hue across the prominent bones of his cheeks, his hands shooting up as if to smother the colour. Oswald looked at him with concern, before hopping off of the counter to stand in front of Edward, gazing up at him worryingly, where Edward struggled to meet his eyes from behind his fingers.

Reaching upwards and lightly taking his hands away from his face, Oswald slowly brought them down to rest at his own shoulders, his hands still atop Edward’s, his pianist fingers lacing through Oswald’s ever-so-slightly.

“How we…?” Oswald led, voice quiet as if to not startle the forensics worker.

“Get… intimate?” the last word came out as more of a light squeak than a whisper, the beat-red face accompanying a man who had just brought up to his faux lover how others were confirming his own speculations.

“Oh,” is all Oswald said, eyes drifting to the side from Edward’s face, light rose tinting his own cheeks, freckles becoming more noticeable against the colourful backdrop.

“Well, I’m not sure we actually have to have sex, not that you’d be interested anyways, but there are ways to fabricate a convincing scene.” 

 

While the shorter man was looking to the side, he missed how Edward swallowed, hard, at the assumption that he would not be interested. Not that he hadn’t thought of it, because saying it had never crossed his mind would have been a blatant lie from start to finish. Since the first kiss with the man, he had been feeling things he would rather die than admit to Oswald. He was worried that the Penguin would be able to tell just by looking at him that he was some sort of whore for not being entirely adverse to climbing in the man’s pants. Even more worried that the mobster would have felt the light twitch of his hands, but he did not, to Edward’s slight relief.

Part of him wanted to know what Oswald would have thought had he been caught out.

Alas, that part of him was currently being filed into a mental box labelled “pummel later” at the present.

 

“Like what, Oswald?” Edward huffed with a tinge of doubt and accusation.

Oswald looked back up at him and raised his eyebrows at the sudden tone shift. He didn’t appreciate people snarking at him, even if they were strangely endearing forensics workers, and he made sure to jab at Edward’s flustered state a bit in his next remarks, if only to remind him that he was actually quite dangerous.

“You want ‘convincing’, don’t you?” Oswald hissed, glaring faintly at the taller man, who shrunk back a tad on himself from embarrassment, before nodding minutely. Eyebrow still raised, he pressed on: “are you sure? Do you need to have it sold entirely or is ‘just the highlights’ enough for you?”

Knowing very well what he was insinuating, Oswald found that he didn’t actually mind. Edward was sweet, albeit a bit awkward and shy, and yet charming and incredibly intelligent. And intellectual equal, lacking only in confidence and flamboyance.

Eyes wide, Edward opened his mouth to speak, before closing it instead. He stared, lost, at Oswald, silently pleading for him to take the lead. Understanding his look and taking pity on the man, Oswald took initiative.

“Tell me when to stop, alright?”

Edward blinked back in response, at first nodding sheepishly, then in earnesty.

 

Oswald slid his hands from Edward’s to snake around his waist, pulling the taller man towards himself from his hips. He searched Edward’s eyes for any sign of doubt or reconsiderations before guiding them back towards a wall, where he spun so that he had the lanky man up against the surface, and his hands next to the man’s shoulders, Edward’s hands having come to rest almost naturally on Oswald’s spine just beneath his shoulder blades.

“I’m going to leave a mark or two here, is that acceptable?” he whispered. Despite them being the only ones in the apartment, the moment was so new to them both that they felt the need for talking softly. 

Rather than put-off by the constant need for affirmations on Oswald’s side, Edward found it all the more enticing. It made the moment less instinctively-driven, and allowed him to process it all better. Pupils blown wide, he nodded twice before a breathy “ _ yes _ ” ghosted from between his lips, transfixed on the sight before him.

 

Mentally taking a deep breath, Oswald steadied himself before leaning to gently press his nose to the side of Edward’s neck, pausing to note and admire the distinctly  _ Edward _ scent, before turning and pressing a light kiss to the area just under the point of his jaw. Pushing forwards more, he gripped Edward’s shoulders for purchase before nipping lightly at the area and latching on for a minute, leaving a distinctive love-bite there, before moving directly in front of the man, and repeating this process right below the centre of his adams apple. 

Breathing deeply from the effort of not omitting any potentially damning noises, Edward had maneuvered his hands so that one was over his agape mouth, eyes wide and brows knitted as he looked up at his ceiling, head back against the wall to allow for easier access. The other found its way towards the curve of Oswald’s back as the shorter man arched into him.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and end all-too-quickly at the same time. Oswald, also breathing heavily, took a minute to just stay leaning into Edward for support, nose in the crook of his neck once again, electricity where their bare skin met in those minimal locations. Edward tentatively brought a cold hand up to probe experimentally at the somewhat sore bruises, bringing Oswald back to the present.

 

“Well then, let’s see if they show up then.” he said, sobering quickly before lending Edward a hand to guide him off of the wall and towards the bathroom mirror to inspect his handiwork. Making brief eye contact with Edward in the mirror before stepping closer to see how well the marks showed up, he hummed to himself pensively.

“Oswald? What is it?” Edward inquired, voice slightly husky from the intense few minutes of not speaking. Well, intense on his part, he’s not sure how Oswald interpreted it.  _ Oh god _ , he thought,  _ what if I came on too strong and totally put him off I better _ \--

“We’re going to need to do a bit more.” he said, not quite emotionlessly, but ambiguous enough in tone to put the tall man slightly off.

“What do you mean ‘a bit more’? Did they not turn out because from here I can see them fine…” Edward stammared, confused as to what was going on.

In response, Oswald rolled his eyes playfully, before once again leading Edward out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen, hopping back up onto the counter once he was close enough. As he made himself comfortable, he glanced back at Edward, who beyond looking slightly like a lost puppy, had an alluring shade of pink dusting his face, the beginnings of dark marks from their previous activities making their debuts on his neck. Strangely enough, Oswald felt an odd bubble of satisfaction in his chest at the sight, before quickly shoving it downwards.

 

“You should leave some on me, can’t have the GCPD thinking that this is a one-sided ordeal in bed, can we?” Oswald said with a smirk, eyes holding Edward’s warm brown ones, dark with an emotion Oswald either didn’t notice, or refused to acknowledge. Smiling quietly at the other man with slight nervousness, and some sheltered elation, Edward moved forwards, assessing how the angle of Oswald being on the counter was much more optimal for these activities than had he needed to bend over to do so with them both standing. Taking his glasses off and folding them, he set them on the counter near Oswald, thinking that they would hinder his actions.

 

“Do you, uh, mind if I kiss you?” Edward started, cheeks burning before hastily adding “Only if you want to! I just, I’m not sure I’d be able to just give these with nothing leading up to it? Sorry if it’s too much to ask god this is-”

“Kiss me.” 

Cut off from his ramblings, a small mercy on Oswald’s behalf, Edward sheepishly ducked his head before cupping Oswald’s jaw and bringing their lips together, slowly. Taking care to ensure that his motions were deliberate and executed to the best of his ability, he kissed Oswald deeply twice more before gently pulling away. Eyes only half open, Edward’s self-confidence was gifted a massive boost at seeing that Oswald’s eyes were still closed, his lips parted minutely. 

Hands drifted down the side of the smaller man’s neck to tilt his head back, neck exposed. Hating himself internally for taking too many liberties in this, Edward steadied himself before imitating Oswald’s prior movements, trailing a few kisses down from his ear to about a card’s length from his jaw before leaving a searing mark there, satisfaction coursing through him when the man’s breathing hitched. 

Emboldened, he moved to just above the collar of Oswald’s expensive-looking dress shirt before leaving another. The third was directly over his thyroid, and at that the smaller man let out a breathy sound that sent spikes of intense emotions through Edward’s torso.

Eyes snapping open and a hand coming up to clap his mouth shut, Oswald’s face went cherry red in embarrassment.

“Well, I just made it awkward.” he said with a weak laugh after regaining his composure. Edward smiled at him widely.

 

“I win.” 

 

“Oh you cheeky little fuck I swear-” Oswald abruptly jumped off the counter and started chasing weakly after Edward, who was darting away from playful slaps.

 

Collapsing on his bed and rolling under his duvet to shield himself from an onslaught of pokes by spindly fingers, Edward giggled madly with a combination of awkwardness being dispelled, and delight at being able to get the famous Penguin to flip moods so quickly. Smiling along with him, Oswald eventually gave up trying to extract his revenge on the smartass and lay down next to him, both men panting at the exertion. Them both running maybe one hundred steps around the apartment, neither being in particularly fantastic shape.

Tiring as the evening approached, they lay talking animatedly about the people they worked with, and how they would eventually cook dinner. Dinner, however, was put on hold as they started dozing off, Edward emerging from his pseudo-burrito to share the comforter with Oswald as they each wore some of Edward’s pyjamas, which was comprised of old band tee-shirts and pyjama pants. 

And if they ended up moving closer to each other in the middle of the night under ambiguously-subconscious circumstances, they didn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the song "Slowdive" by Siouxie and the Banshees (amazing song)  
> comments keep chapters coming  
> kudos fuel my dwindling self-worth  
> kidding
> 
> mostly
> 
> please to give commentaries/kudos tho i love you guys it makes my day


	5. Silent Aristotle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plot thickens once again, enter slight angst! (?)  
> ... are these... feelings?

Once again, Edward was both petrified and giddy to go to work. Sure people would be talking again, but this time there would be more substantial backing for their discussions. 

He felt slightly sick at his pleasure in finding ideas for the scheme from these rumours, but they fueled into desires he wouldn’t take at face value. 

So what if his heart started beating abnormally fast when he was around? It meant absolutely  _ nothing _ how his breathing would catch in the ways the light hit his eyes, making them glow like seaglass.

He ignored the flutters in his stomach anytime that one of his co-workers would raise their eyebrows at him when Oswald showed up at the precinct.

Nope. Nothing weird there. Nothing at all.

 

Settling down at his desk and depositing a few files he had been working on since late this morning, he could practically  _ feel _ the eyes on his neck. Walking quickly back to the M.E. lab, he made sure to duck his head the slightest bit, wincing at himself when he then thought how the whole plan of this was to flaunt the marks.

“ _ Oh dear _ .” he whispered to himself, face red once again.

  
  


Four hours later saw Oswald standing outside the precinct, waiting for Bullock’s break to begin so that he could discuss with Gordon the particulars of certain mob activity down by the docks. Seeing the man standing by his desk, he waltzed in, heading straight for the now-occupied desk, noting that Edward was probably in the morgue, or the archives. When the man noticed Oswald’s approach, he sighed quietly before closing the open file on his desk and leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Oswald. What can I help you with today?” he said resignedly.

The shorter man forced a smile and sat down on the chair across from the detective.

“Jim, I’ve come to discuss the dock activities. We usually meet this time of day every other week on Wednesday.” he looked at his watch pointedly, “and well it is that time!” the last words were filled with mock enjoyment.

 

Gordon sighed heavily, having forcibly forgotten about their meeting.

“Well, since you’re already here.” he drawled. Suddenly he sat up straighter, looking over the mobster’s shoulder. Not wanting to seem out of place in case this was a deception of sorts, Oswald continued to stare forwards, hands on his crossed knees. A slim hand found its way to the Penguin’s shoulder, causing him to almost startle, but years of training a neutral expression kept this from happening.

“Hello Detective, Oswald.” Edward said from behind him.

Smiling softly at the hand on his shoulder, Oswald placed his own over it, arm crossing his chest. He looked back at Gordon, undeterred.

“Edward.” he acknowledged, smile in his voice.

“Hey Nygma, what brings you here?” Gordon said, leaning back again to meet the tall man’s eyes from his seated position.

“Just wanted to check in with Oswald, good day.” he smiled widely, before squeezing Oswald’s shoulder and turning away, walking back to his work station.

Gordon remained staring at where Edward was, eyes distant.

“Detective,” Oswald led, determined to get the meeting over with as soon as he could. The older man’s eyes snapped back to him, and sighed once again.

 

Twenty two minutes later, their meeting was over faster than usual, and as Oswald was standing up to leave, Gordon shot up and grabbed his arm just above his elbow.

“And what  _ exactly _ do you think you’re doing?!” The Penguin spluttered, eyes fiery.

“Shh!” Gordon hissed, glancing around at the few officers who had looked up.

“Just, what is this all about?” He glanced over towards the M.E.’s office, where Edward was still performing an autopsy. At the raised eyebrow he was met with, he loosened his grip on the man’s arm, but still in close proximity to him.

“This whole… charade.”

“I don’t have a  _ clue _ what you are talking about, Gordon.”

“Oswald. What is this? What is this  _ scheme _ of sorts with Nygma? Are you using him for inside information?” 

Oswald’s jaw dropped in shock and offense. He couldn’t believe what Gordon was insinuating of his motives for entangling himself with Edward.

“Are you serious?” he deadpanned, staring at the blond man, eyebrows knit and eyes alight.

“Well I don’t see why I wouldn’t be.” he huffed.

“Are you trying to say that I have no place with Edward? That my feelings for him are nothing but a sick, manipulative scheme in order to get information?”

Gordon averted his eyes, setting his jaw.

 

He had put two and two together when he saw the marks on Edward’s neck earlier that day. And when he had seen them both standing in front of him, almost  _ flaunting _ their relationship, marks matching all over their necks, he had felt a burning sensation both in the pit of his stomach and in his throat.

It’s not that he had a problem with two men dating, him being bisexual himself, but they seemed so,  _ unfit _ for each other, yet, they worked.

 

“No I-” he was abruptly cut off by a quietly seething Penguin.

“James Gordon, my personal life is no concern of yours.” he said firmly, teeth set, eyes staring the taller man down.

Once again, Gordon’s arm tightened on Oswald’s and he drew him closer.

“If you would just  _ listen to me _ .”

“ _ Unhand me you absolute-” _

Gordon surged forwards and shut him up by desperately placing his lips on Oswald’s.

What seemed like a moment of salvation for Jim was a half second of total panic for Oswald.

It was over in a flash.

More of a slap really, Oswald jerked away from him, and then promptly backhanded him across the face.

 

The whole precinct went quiet as the men said nothing, but staring at one another, were able to understand that while Jim’s expression held shock and mild hurt, Oswald’s held shock and indignation.

Gordon let go of Oswald’s arm, and slowly backed away, hands up in surrender, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, seemingly surprised at his own actions.

Steadying himself, Oswald straightened his back, before glaring at the detective, who was still frozen.

“When does Edward’s shift end,  _ Detective _ ?” the venom laced in his voice could have euthanized at least three patients on the hospital’s death row.

A throat cleared from behind him.

“Right now,” Edward walked over to where Oswald was, and intertwined their fingers before guiding him out of the precinct, Oswald shooting daggers at Jim, and the precinct’s occupants were quieter than a graveyard, eyes darting between Gordon and the retreating duo.

 

“Alright, back to work.” Sarah Essen commanded to the dumbstruck officers.

“Gordon, with me. Now.”

  
  


“You are aware that not only is what you did not workplace-friendly, but sexual assault, yes?” 

Essen was seated behind her desk, eyebrows touching lightly, face both stern and disappointed with her model Detective’s behaviour.

“Yes ma’am. I take responsibility for my actions.”

“Well I sure hope you do, because nobody is going to take it for you.” she deadpanned, eyes taking on the expression of a mother scolding her child for inadequate grades in their final semesters.

“You’re excused, be glad Nygma conveyed that Cobblepot was not going to be pressing charges.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

  
  


“The fucking  _ nerve _ of that man! Who the hell does he think he is?” Oswald muttered mutinously under his breath, hand still trapped in Edward’s.

“I mean! Just what the  _ hell _ did he think he was doing? He has no right to me!” he stopped mid-stride, staring a hole into the concrete sidewalk, accidentally causing the connected Edward to stumble at the abrupt cease of pace.

“Are you alright?” Edward asked him quietly, glancing at the smaller man from over his shoulder, concern etched into every inch of his face.

“I don’t know, it’s just.. Ugh. What am I supposed to be?” he rounded on Edward, meeting his eyes with a mix of anger and pleading. He didn’t know how to articulate what he felt, his shock and confusion at being kissed by Jim Gordon of all people shook him to his core. 

Edward brought his non-occupied hand to lightly cup Oswald’s jaw, thumb tracing small circles into his cheekbone. Oswald’s eyes fell to the sidewalk between them, finding a small comfort in being held this way. The scientist gently tipped his jaw upwards, their eyes meeting again.

 

“May I kiss you?” he whispered

 

“But nobody’s around,” said Oswald, hushed.

 

“I know.”

 

The taller man leaned forwards, and tentatively met the raven-haired man’s lips with his own. 

This time it was different. In the past, it had been for show, or to up their cover. But this time, it was genuine. Edward thought of this as his first kiss with Oswald. The others seemed to pale in comparison, electrifying, yes, but this one had not only electricity, but a soft wave of peace that quieted their minds. Not breaking away, Oswald kissed him again, mouth working against his, drawing Edward’s bottom lip between his own, slowly opening himself up to this man emotionally, willing to be vulnerable, willing to let Edward undo him entirely. In any other word, melting into it. The tension sat between his brows and in the back of his neck and shoulders easing, eyes on the brink of welling up with tears. 

Oswald shifted his arm to wrap around Edward’s waist, pulling him closer to him, the hand Edward had on his jaw moved to snake around the back of his neck, fingers carding through his feathery hair. Butterflies found their way just underneath his diaphragm, and Oswald felt lightheaded in the most bizarre way, instead of feeling nauseous, he felt… lighter.

Eventually, they had to break the kiss, resting their foreheads together so they could catch their breath. They were still pressed very close together, Oswald slightly on his toes, and Edward leaning over a bit.

“Should we continue this elsewhere?” Oswald breathed, and in response Edward nodded against his head, unable to speak.

 

The ride back to Edward’s apartment was an odd sort of serene feeling, where both men felt at peace and out of time, yet very much energised and weightless. Oswald couldn’t look away from Edward during the drive, enraptured by his silhouette and the way his cheekbones complimented his nose and chin in a manner akin to Greek statues of the great philosophers made out of marble.

As the door slid shut behind them, and the only light came from the overcast clouds filtering cool grey light through the window, they felt slightly out of their depths. Edward taking Oswald’s jacket with an awkward nod of thanks from the smaller man, and the silence between them tingling with static, like the moments just before lightning, they looked to each other once again, eye contact not wavering for a blink.

 

“Thank you, Edward.” Oswald said after a few beats.

“What for, Oswald?” Edward responded, tone filled with delicate confusion.

“Being here,” the words ghosted from Oswald’s lips, eyes searching Edward’s face for the disgust he was so numbed to. To the rejection, the moment before the penny hits the ground.

He found none of this.

Edward reached out, hand settling on Oswald’s shoulder, enthralled by his words. He felt as though he had been waiting to hear that from anyone, except he didn’t know it until Oswald said it. 

It felt right.

He smiled faintly at the smaller man, noticing for the first time how his irises captured the light, like spiderwebs spun into delicate stretches of stormy blue-green, full of such depth, and while a cold colour, full of such warmth and emotion.

 

“Of course, Mr. Penguin.” he teased lightly, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pressing a kiss to his temple, holding him close to his chest, hearts almost level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop your reactions/commentaries if you want slightly spicy stuff next chapter :)  
> xospdrs


End file.
